In the Lap of Luxury

NOTE: This was originally published as part of a blog for a class in October 2012; thought you all might like a little taste of a typical Swanson Family Vacation. Enjoy!

"Sorry for the bad vacation genes." - My mom, often

We call it The Swanson Family Curse - a widely known and oft joked about curse that has plagued every vacation we have ever attempted; dating from the early 70s, it has followed each of us girls on into our adult lives, never far from anyone's mind. Nevertheless, some of my fondest memories come from our obligatory family trip every summer, always via car, van, or rented RV because, you know, my parents were afraid of flying. Two adults, four daughters and one Astro van: what's not to love? In the interest of full disclosure I should mention that my two eldest sisters were out of the house and no longer vacationing with us by the time I was six. Lucky, lucky, those two.

There was nothing that the Swansons couldn't conquer in a larger-than-anticipated motorhome that terrified our conservative, drive-it-like-you're-85 father. Seriously, the one we got the summer of 1995 was enormous, an error in the reservation process from the rental company, apparently. The first three hours of the trip from western Wisconsin to Yellowstone National Park consisted of my older sister and I tucked up in the overhead bunk area, giggling and spying on our parents, below. The tension radiating from Dad was thick enough to feed all of us for dinner, though I think that's what they were going for.

More than once we heard our mom quietly suggest that it might be time to stop and "feed the girls" to which dad eventually snapped back "I can't park this thing in anything smaller than an airplane hangar; they can eat tomorrow morning." By the third day of driving, Dad had learned to navigate the rig as best as he'd be able for the remainder of the trip, which is to say, stressfully and at painfully slow speeds.

*This may not be my family, but it sure as hell could have been.

It seemed to take at least six months but we finally finished the long, flat trip through one of the Dakotas - does it matter which one? Because really, it'd be a crying shame to miss a single landmark in the desolate, flat, treeless vista that is The Dakotas, right? We barreled on into Montana with Yellowstone in our sights and relative peace in the confines of our little (enormous) home-away-from-home-on-wheels, though once we hit the park our trip headed steadily downhill. And fast.

*Something my parents totally would have done. By accident. Awesome.

A bear broke into our RV one evening while we were at a restaurant eating dinner, helped himself to the contents of the "kitchen" cabinets then shat on the rug before heading down the lane to the next campsite. We missed Old Faithful not once, but three mother loving times before we finally pinned her down; lemme tell you something, the name is as ironic as it gets. I spent almost every minute of the trip with motion sickness rivaling the aftermath of a 24-hour ride on a Tilt-a-Whirl because of the mountain switch-backs that are fricking everywhere in um, well, The Mountains.

The trip back to Wisconsin was fraught with near-constant bickering between my sister and I; I was bored, carsick and did I mention bored? She was in college, home with us for the summer and missing the daylights out of her boyfriend, Dan - but you can call him Tree. Because that was his nickname. Whatever. Because the fighting was enough to make our parents a little stabby, we took an extra-long stay-over in Cody, WY.

*This isn't us. Why, you ask? Because they're smiling, that's why.

While there we ate at a great restaurant, took in a rodeo and our toilet overflowed. Continuously. All the way back to Wisconsin. The last night of our trip was spent at a campground a mere 20 miles from the RV rental company because we arrived back in the area after they'd already closed for the day. We took turns using an empty Cool Whip container to scoop out the oozing toilet water while my dad spent the entire evening underneath our temporary home, doing his damndest to fix the issue before we had to return it with blue sewer water sloshing out all over the carpet, waving goodbye to our damage deposit. At 11:45 pm he came tearing into the RV - bleeding profusely from the head - started the engine and raced around to the dumping station, whooping and shouting with joy all the way. We were terrified.

Turns out, there was a secondary sewer valve that led to a holding tank and somebody had switched it to the "closed" position. The kinds folks at RV-Trainers-R-Us failed to point out the valve to my dad, thus the overflow and loss of our sweet on-board toilet for fully half of our trip. I'm not sure who was more relieved to be done with this lovely memory-making family vacation - the adults or the bored, unimpressed offspring. Though it may have been a typically disastrous Swanson family vaca, at least we have hilarious stories to carry with us, right? Right?!



*All photo credits to https://awkwardfamilyphotos.com

The Writing Process: It's Not an Exact Science

I'm under a ton of pressure right now with heaps of small deadlines creeping towards me and stressing me out. But being the go-getter that I am, deadlines are no match for my mad multi-tasking skills. Here's an example of my typical writing process and how it unfolded today:

• Settle in with coffee and Shredded Wheat immediately in a.m. and bang out one project with ease.
• Congratulate self and take a break to watch Hoda & Kathie Lee on mute while cruising Facebook.
• Take a 45 minute shower without shaving so much as one underarm.
• Plan rest of workday while in shower.
• Practice putting hair into chic bun; end up looking a lot like O'Brien by the time bangs are dry.
• Pull out contents of veggie crisper (do people actually call it a crisper? 'cause at my house it's just a drawer) and neatly chop, slice, and dice everything so healthy snacks are at the ready.
• Eat an entire pound of roasted asparagus and a bowl full of cabbage for lunch.
• Regret lunch fare immediately.
• Lunch was too healthy; open a new jar of Nutella and go to town.
• Braid nearly dry hair; mess with it for another 20 minutes.
• Lovingly shine the leaves of plant in bedroom.
• Make list of work to be accomplished by 4 p.m. today.
• Tweeze errant upper-lip hair missed by waxer from hair appt two weeks ago.
• Go to the bathroom; curse asparagus.
• Do the dishes.
• Re-organize pile of important paperwork.
• Hang kids' artwork on doors in dining room.
• Marvel at creativity of my children.
• Re-start dryer; continue ignoring baskets of ready-to-be-folded clean clothes.
• Look out the windows, ponder outside temperature and consider checking mail - no dice.
• Wonder about cable guy who has been at neighbor's house three times today. Make that four times.
• Turn on Ellen. (did you know they're making a sequel to Finding Nemo?)
• Un-braid hair. Marvel at how long hair is getting.
• Realize it's 4:20 and the kids need to be picked up.
• Remember how much I hate John Mayer.
• Accomplish exactly zero items from to-do list.
• Day: shot. Will try harder tomorrow. Probably.

Aydan's Army

Hey all, I'm coming to you this morning with a request for your support for a sweet little man. Aydan is fighting hard in his third battle with cancer and he needs our help. Here's the plan: we're asking that everyone who reads this send a Lego piece to Aydan to show how all of our thoughts, prayers and support can come together to make something huge for this very special little boy. Below is the information posted by his family on his Facebook page; at the end you'll find a mailing address for the Lego pieces.

... Aydan Nyberg is an amazing little boy. His bright smile is contagious. His spirit is inspiring. Above all, his courage through his battles has been incredible. In the words of Aydan, "it's worth it." At the young age of eight, he has been faced with cancer three times. He is a true superhero against cancer.

At the age of three, Aydan fought and won over a rare, childhood cancer called Rhabdomyosarcoma. He was in remission for three years. At the age of seven, he was diagnosed with a new cancer, AML Leukemia. With intense chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant with his younger sister, Mikaela Rose, he fought his second battle. At the age of eight, Aydan has received the devastating news that his Leukemia has relapsed. He will be entered into a medical trial program for another high-risk bone marrow transplant at St. Jude's Children's Hospital in Tennessee.

Even though Aydan is a superhero against cancer, he needs your support more than ever to help him and his family through the next part of his battle...his journey to St. Jude's. They will need to relocate to Tennessee for six months, with additional monthly follow-up visits, as part of this medical trial. The proceeds raised from the efforts of Aydan's Army will help cover medical expenses, not paid for by insurance and uncovered travel expenses, as well as, loss of income and other expenses for Aydan's care.

Aydan's Army is proud to have you as a part of the team. Most of all, Aydan is thankful for your support. Aydan is a resident of Cumberland, RI.
AydansArmy.org  

Aydan's Army
PO BOX 542,
North Attleboro, MA 02761  

My momma heart aches for this child and his family; I'm asking that you read this; share to your Facebook feed; email the link to your friends and family - near and far; and keep Aydan in your thoughts and prayers. This is a departure from my normal blog fare but I happen to have some of the best readers on the planet and I know your hearts are as big as mine. Probably bigger, because we know mine is a little bit black.    

Honey Boo Boo, But Nicer

My third child is crazy. He's an absolute animal who never stops moving, not for a moment. As a two-year-old, he has more energy than the other three of us in the household, combined, and he never fails to keep us all laughing. And screaming. But really, lots of laughing. I wish I had the time and energy to blog more of the hilarity that comes from life with my children but alas, little snippets will have to do.

My sister and niece stopped over for a bit this afternoon and The Baby was in rare form; he had put on a pair of his big sister's underwear and was demonstrating the yoga ABC's they've been working on. Because that alone isn't enough of a sight, while in the midst of "D: Down Diggity Dog" he starts singing/shouting "I'm shakin' my booty, I'm shakin' my BOOTY, SHAKIN' MY BOOTY, SEE?!" I couldn't tell you where the phrase comes from, nor where he picked up the sassy, southern accent, but it makes for some prime entertainment.

My quiet, unassuming niece rolls her eyes and says, "He's like Honey Boo Boo, only much nicer."

Lessons On Nudity. And Humility.

I've never been quite sure when to pull the plug on my kids seeing me naked. I mean, I grew up seeing both of my parents in the nude on a pretty regular basis. Not because we were a super liberal, free-to-be-me kind of family, more because I had zero respect for their privacy when in the bathroom. Being a parent myself now, it's nice to know that I'm not the only kid who was a total asshole to my parents; I'm raising three of them to follow quite handily in my footsteps.

I want to raise these people with a healthy respect for their bodies and without shame but I don't know how to maintain an openness on the subject while also instilling good boundaries about privacy and respect for others. Being a tricky topic, I've pushed it out of my mind and thought I'd wait until they were older to set up a plan. After several recent post-shower interactions with my kids, now is clearly the time.

My bathroom set-up is horrible. Think, hotel: shower and toilet in one room with a door (that locks, thank God) and then a sink/vanity and linen closet outside of the lockable area. My oldest sister - who has four older children - thinks my bathroom rocks; I, on the other hand, do not enjoy readying myself for the day with three children joining me in an area that is literally 15 square feet. Most mornings consist of me jumping out of the shower and racing through my "pretty" routine as fast as possible to keep to a minimum the number of times that I have to scream "GET OUT OF THIS BATHROOM BEFORE I LOSE MY COTTON-PICKING MIND."

No sooner have I shoved them all out of my way, when one will wander back in to stand directly between me and the sink, clawing at whatever body part said child can reach while crying/giggling/begging to be held. My youngest is two and finds delight in pinching my generous post-pregnancy-extra-skin pooch that lies just below my belly button. Endless entertainment for that one, and a giant dose of humility for me. No one ever said parenting was good for the ego, did they?

Last week while toweling off in front of my 3 1/2 year-old daughter I noticed her regarding me with a curled lip, head cocked to the side and a certain disgusted curiosity pouring from her big, blue eyes. After a few moments she shakes her head and says, "You sure do got a hairy bottom, momma." She walks away, turning back to offer me a sweeping glance full of pity, embarrassed on my behalf. Though speechless, I'm sure nothing I had to say would have convinced her I wasn't some mutant creature.

Two days later my 5 year-old son walks into my bedroom while I'm bent over, fishing some clean clothes out of the unfolded mass in the laundry basket. Gathering my things, I set them on the bed and feel his finger poking into my butt cheek and thighs. As I turn around to tell him to keep his hands to himself he says, "Why do you have all those dents in your butt, mom? Do they hurt? Look, they're as big as my finger!"

With that, I found that the Naked Dilemma had solved itself; turns out that whole nudity question has much less to do with the age of your children than your ability to take the heaping insults about your deformed, hairy, dented, fleshy body.